


Let Yourself Be Enchanted

by kjack89



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Disney, Alternate Universe - Enchanted (2007) Fusion, Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Crack, F/M, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Magic, Mildly Dubious Consent, Princes & Princesses, True Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-14
Updated: 2014-10-14
Packaged: 2018-02-21 04:29:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2454755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kjack89/pseuds/kjack89
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><strong>Enchanted AU.</strong> Prince Marius meets his true love, Courfeyrac, in a forest, but when his grandfather the king sends Courfeyrac to the real world, things are complicated, especially when Courfeyrac meets Combeferre, who doesn't believe in true love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let Yourself Be Enchanted

**Author's Note:**

> I was going to save writing this AU until I finished my actual fairytale AU but then I decided I didn't care. Obviously based on the film Enchanted, though you probably don't need to have seen the movie to understand this.
> 
> I tossed a dub-con warning on there because this fic deals with the concept of true love, which, along with things like soul mates, brings up understandable questions of choice and individual agency, so while I tried to push back on the concept, if it bothers you, probably avoid reading.
> 
> Otherwise, the usual disclaimer applies as it always does. Please be kind and tip your fanfic writers in the form of comments and/or kudos!

_Once upon a time, in a magical kingdom known as Rue des Filles-du-Calvaire, there lived an old king named Gillenormand. Selfishly, the king had separated his grandson, Marius Pontmercy, from the boy’s father, in fear that his grandson might take on his father’s political beliefs and overthrow the monarchy. And so as the boy grew, Gillenormand did everything in his power to keep separate the boy from any who might challenge his beliefs, including the special young person with whom he might share true ~~liberty’s~~  love’s first kiss…_

Courfeyrac sighed and propped his head on his hand as he leaned on the windowsill, looking out the window of the small cabin where he lived. He didn’t know how he had gotten there, nor did he know where he had lived before, where his family was, or anything of that ilk. Such details were unimportant in magic lands, after all. What was important was that he was there, and he was lonely.

He was friends with the animals, of course; they often came over to help him with the tidying up or to sew him a new doublet when he needed, and, certainly, they had shared in a fair amount of song-singing, but it just wasn’t the same as having other humans around. Courfeyrac loved people, loved spending time with them, and wished he had the freedom to do so, but he couldn’t, of course — that was why he was in the cabin in the deepest part of the forest, where no people ever seemed to come.

Which is why it was with no small surprise that while Courfeyrac was going through his normal daytime routine — strumming his lute in a melancholy fashion as the mice precariously swept the floor while the wholly unqualified birds made his bed — a knock sounded suddenly at the door. Courfeyrac instantly set his lute to the side and declared, “It must be him — the one with whom I’ll share true love’s kiss!” After all, for what other reason would a young man wait in a cabin in the deepest part of the forest if not for true love’s kiss, with, hopefully, a prince (and if not a prince, perhaps a baron. Or a duke. A knight even. On rare occasion, Courfeyrac allowed himself to even dream of a squire. Anything below that just wasn’t worth it).

Instantly, Courfeyrac sprang to his feet and darted to the door, throwing it open to reveal, on the other side, a gangly but attractive young man wearing a handsomely cut doublet and a simple gold circlet that revealed him to be exactly what Courfeyrac had always assumed he was waiting for: a prince. “I have come to sleep with you,” the man declared, and Courfeyrac swooned.

Literally swooned, as it were — toppling over so that he would have fallen flat on his face were it not for the quick actions of the prince, who grabbed Courfeyrac as he fell so that Courfeyrac ended up in his arms. “Oh, goodness,” Courfeyrac said, and fainted again.

When he woke, it was to the prince and someone else standing over him, looking very concerned. Or at least, the prince did; the other man, who Courfeyrac assumed was a servant or valet of some variety, looked like he was holding back laughter, and only semi-successfully. “What happened?” Courfeyrac asked, slowly sitting up.

He waved off his forest animal friends, who rushed forward to help, instead letting the prince take his hand and pull him to his feet. “I believe you swooned,” the prince said, sounding troubled. “And I believe it may have been my fault?”

Now his servant couldn’t stop his laughter, though he attempted to turn it into a cough. “What Prince Marius is trying to say is that you were overwhelmed by his presence, as one tends to be when meeting the love of one’s life for the first time.”

Courfeyrac stared at Marius, who stared back at him, eyes wide. “My true love…?” Courfeyrac repeated, wonderingly, and Marius beamed.

“It must be so!” he said excitedly. “I was searching for a place to sleep because my fairy godmother told me that I would find my true love where least expected, and I mean, who finds their true love in a forest? That would just be silly. So I told Grantaire — that’s my man here, Grantaire, my valet and my grandfather’s valet as well — that I must go questing into the forest to find my true love, but then I got tired and needed someplace to sleep and I saw your cottage, and—” He cut himself off abruptly, turning the most remarkable shade of red as Courfeyrac just stared at him. “Sorry,” he muttered. “I have a tendency to ramble.”

Grantaire nodded. “And it’s only made worse when he’s nervous,” he told Courfeyrac, who laughed, gratified to know he had made the prince nervous. “So I suppose there’s only one thing left to do — decide when you two will be married.”

Marius reached out for Courfeyrac’s hands and said firmly, “Tomorrow. Now that I’ve found you, I never want for us to be parted again.”

“Nor will we be,” Courfeyrac said, just as firmly. “We shall be wed on the morrow.”

Grinning, Marius turned to Grantaire and ordered, “Help my love pack, and then we must return to the castle immediately to tell my grandfather the excellent news.”

Grantaire inclined his head and Marius rushed out of the cabin to ready his horse. Courfeyrac glanced nervously at Grantaire. “You really don’t have to do much,” he assured him. “My friends will help.” The assembled forest creatures did just that, rushing to pack Courfeyrac’s few belongings as Courfeyrac looked back at Grantaire. “So — you do think this is true love between the prince and I?” he asked, a little anxiously.

“I cannot say that I’ve experienced it myself,” Grantaire told him, something wistful in his voice, “but the way you two met — what else could it be?”

“What else indeed?” Courfeyrac asked quietly, following Grantaire and the squirrels bearing his luggage outside the cottage.

* * *

 

“Well, that’s not ideal,” Gillenormand sighed, looking out the window at where preparations were being made for the wedding.

Grantaire shifted uncomfortably. “The fact that his true love is a man?” he hazarded.

Gillenormand glanced back at him. “Hm? Oh, no, that has nothing to do with it, though it adds a few kinks to the line of succession. No, I had hoped when Marius finally met someone, it wouldn’t be someone who has been living on his own for the last several years. That’s just  _bound_  to give Marius ideas.”

Cocking his head slightly, Grantaire asked, “But Courfeyrac is Marius’s true love.”

“Oh, surely you don’t believe that,” Gillenormand scoffed. “If Marius had never met this Courfeyrac, he would have met someone else. It isn’t as if there’s only one person in this world for someone. But no, my fool of a grandson had to fall for someone whose ideals of freedom fall far outside the scope of Marius’s sheltered life.” He sighed and shook his head. “Well, there’s only one thing that I can do to solve this.”

“You’re not going to kill Courfeyrac, are you?” Grantaire asked anxiously.

Gillenormand laughed. “Oh no, my loyal valet. I’m going to do much worse than that. I’m going to send him to a place where even his freedom can be corrupted into cynicism: the real world.”

* * *

 

Combeferre took a sip of the drink he had just been handed by the bartender and winced. He couldn’t blame it all on Enjolras, but it was partially Enjolras’s fault — when everyone else in college was busy going to frat parties and getting wasted, he and Enjolras had spent most of their time organizing protests and rallies, and Combeferre learned early on that hangovers and activism didn’t mix. As such, he had never developed a palate for alcohol, but at an event like this, it was more or less mandatory.

He glanced around the crowded cocktail party that his law firm was throwing and sighed. The person standing at the open bar next to him sighed as well. “Rough day.”

Glancing over, Combeferre couldn’t help but smile at his best friend and roommate, Enjolras, who looked as good as he always did, cutting an impressive figure in an immaculate suit, but Combeferre knew him well enough to know what was really going on. Enjolras’s curls seemed lank and his skin paler than usual, not quite hiding the dark circles around his eyes. “Rougher for you than for me, I’d wager,” Combeferre said, taking another sip of his drink. “Have you talked to Feuilly?”

Enjolras’s brow furrowed and he shook his head. “No. I don’t — there’s not really much to say at this point.”

Combeferre sighed and reached out to squeeze Enjolras’s arm. “Break-ups suck,” he said sympathetically. “But you’ll get through it. I know you will.”

Though Enjolras shrugged and forced a smile onto his face, Combeferre could tell that it was a fake smile. Still, he didn’t argue when Enjolras said brusquely, “It’s for the best. I don’t really have time for a relationship right now anyway. Have you seen the number of cases that have been dumped on my desk since Bossuet quit to spend more time with his family?”

“You’re telling me,” Combeferre said wryly. “I thought we went into private practice because we were promised we’d have less cases than working for the Public Defender’s office, not more, and more time to spend on the people who need it most.” He sighed, shook his head, and took another sip. “But maybe you’re right. Maybe neither of us have time for relationships right now.”

Enjolras glanced sideways at him. “Don’t tell me you’re thinking of breaking up with what’s-her-name,” he said. “And don’t tell it’s just because of what happened with me and Feuilly.”

Combeferre shook his head again. “It’s not  _just_  because of anything. I mean, Cosette’s great, really, the best woman I’ve ever dated — hell, maybe even the best of anyone I’ve ever dated — present company excluded of course.” Enjolras snorted, and Combeferre continued, “But I feel like I’m trying to logic my way into this, knowing that she’s a good match and we get along well, but logic and the fact that you  _should_  work together doesn’t make it so. Look at you and Feuilly — you two should have been perfect together.”

Now Enjolras was scowling, and he gestured to the bartender for a drink. “Thanks for reminding me.” He glared at Combeferre. “But before you get too far down the road of talking yourself out of dating the girl that you’ve been seeing for, what, like, two years now? Remember that relationships aren’t one of your formal logic assignments that need solving. Because from where I’m standing, it looks less like you’re trying to logic your way  _into_  a relationship and more like you’re trying to logic your way  _out_  of one.”

“And here I thought I was supposed to be the wise one,” Combeferre joked, but when Enjolras didn’t stop glaring at him, held his hands up in defeat. “Fine, fine. I’ll think about it, ok? In the meantime, we best shake some hands and schmooze before we get fired.”

“That wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world,” Enjolras muttered, though he threw back the drink he had just gotten from the bartender and followed Combeferre into the crowd.

* * *

 

“What do you mean, he’s gone after him?” Gillenormand demanded, and Grantaire winced and cowered away from him.

“I mean, um, when Marius discovered that Courfeyrac had  _voluntarily_  gone over the ledge of the magical-fountain-portal-to-other-realms, he decided the wisest course of action was to leap over the ledge and follow him. And so, he, um, well, he did.”

Grantaire cringed even further when Gillenormand let out  _that_  sigh — you know the one, the heavy one that says ‘I’m not mad, I’m just disappointed.’ “Well, we can’t have that, now can we,” Gillenormand said. “There’s only one thing for it. You’ll have to go after him and bring him back.”

“Me?”

Gillenormand smiled dangerously at him. “Well, I certainly can’t go. I’ve a kingdom to run. And you — well, let’s put it this way. If you go after Marius and bring him back before he can get any notions, or, worse, actually marry this Courfeyrac, then I will grant you what you’ve always wanted: your freedom. And if you don’t go after him, well…”

He trailed off and Grantaire paled and nodded. “Of course. I’ll just, uh, I’ll just go.”

“Excellent,” Gillenormand said, smiling unpleasantly as he turned back to look into his magic mirror, which was currently showing Courfeyrac wandering through the streets of a city in the real world, looking lost and alone.

* * *

 

The first thing Courfeyrac noticed about this world — whatever world he was in, because it was pretty clear that he was no longer in his own world (he may not know anything about interdimensional travel, but just accepted it for what it was) — was that the clothes he was wearing were very much  _not_  in fashion. Sure, other things should probably have been greater or more pressing in terms of concern, but it was fairly obvious as he wandered down the street that he had just shown up on that his white doublet with slashed sleeves showing silver fabric underneath and silver hose, though the pinnacle of fashion in Rue des Filles-du-Calvaire, stood out (and not in a good way) among the tight-fitted blue trousers and loose cotton shirts that most seemed to favor.

The second thing he noticed was that while he was oddly dressed, no one seemed to care, beyond telling him to get out of the way and asking him what the fuck he was staring at.

And the third thing he noticed, or realized, perhaps, was that he was utterly alone, with no clue where Prince Marius or the kingdom had gone to, or perhaps more importantly, how he was supposed to get back there.

As if sensing his mood, shortly after his arrival, as he was wandering morosely through the streets and contemplating his own mortality, it began to rain. And doublets, though the height of fashion, were not nearly as awesome when soaking wet.

So Courfeyrac began searching for someplace dry, huddling under an overhang from a large brick building next to another, older man dressed in dark clothes with a shiny badge pinned on his chest. “Hello, old man?” Courfeyrac said hopefully, knowing that old men were often a source of wisdom in Rue des Filles-du-Calvaire. “I’m very tired, and I’m scared. You see, I’ve never been this far from home before, and I’m not even sure where here is in relation to home. So if somebody could show me just a bit of kindness, a friendly ‘hello’, or even a smile, I’m sure that would lift my spirits.”

The man turned to raise an eyebrow at him. “My name is Inspector Javert,” he said, in a low, gravelly voice. “Speak to me again and I’ll have you arrested.”

Well, there went that plan.

Courfeyrac certainly wasn’t going to stay where he obviously wasn’t wanted, so he headed back out onto the rain-drenched streets, half-hoping that, as with all the tales of his youth, he would stumble upon an enchanted meadow or a dwarf’s house (he heard they were quite hospitable).

Instead, he stumbled straight into the path of an oncoming car.

* * *

 

Combeferre was scrolling through his twitter feed on his phone when the taxi came to an abrupt stop with a sudden  _thud_. “Did we hit someone?” Enjolras asked, looking up from where he was also reading through his phone.

“Holy shit,” Combeferre said, instantly opening his door and scrambling out of the car, his brief training from when he thought he was going to be a doctor kicking in as he knelt next to the prone man in front of the car. “Sir? Sir? Are you alright?”

The man blinked fuzzily up at him. “Has anyone ever told you you’re a very attractive man?”

Combeferre stared at him. “Sir, I think you may have hit your head,” he said, not because he wasn’t one to take a compliment, but he knew Enjolras was probably hovering within the man’s vision, and anyone who thought Combeferre was more attractive than Enjolras  _had_  to have hit his head. “I need you to not move until the paramedics get here and can evaluate if you’ve hit your head or injured your neck.”

As if he hadn’t heard a word Combeferre had said, the man slowly sat up, and only for the first time did Combeferre notice the clothes he was wearing. “Is the renaissance fair back in town?” Enjolras asked incredulously from where he was hovering over Combeferre’s shoulder.

“The renaissance fair?” the man repeated, raising a hand to the back of his head and wincing slightly as he tried to stand up. “What is that?”

Enjolras raised both his eyebrows but Combeferre ignored the entire conversation, instead helping the man to his feet. “We should really get you to a hospital, or a doctor,” he said, frowning as the man looked around, clearly disoriented. “You could have a concussion, or internal injuries, or—”

Snorting, Enjolras patted his shoulder gently. “You sound like Joly. He seems fine, and I don’t think we hit him very hard.”

They both looked back at the cab driver, who was on the phone and speaking rapidly in a language neither recognized, and Enjolras sighed. “I’ll talk to him.”

As he walked over to do just that, Combeferre looked back at the man, clearly concerned. “You really should still be lying down,” he said. “At the very least you probably have a concussion. Do you have anyone we can call for you?”

“Oh, you could call my prince!” the man said brightly, though his smile quickly faded into a puzzled look. “Though I don’t think he’d hear you from here.” He hesitated, then told Combeferre, “My name is Courfeyrac, by the way. And what’s yours, you handsome devil?”

Combeferre couldn’t help but smile even as he rolled his eyes. “I’m Combeferre. And seriously, keep calling me handsome and I’m going to think that you’ve got brain-damage. Have you been living under a rock or something?”

Courfeyrac shook his head. “Of course not. But I have been living in a forest with no other people around.” Combeferre snorted and Courfeyrac added hastily, “Not that that’s why I think you’re handsome, I promise.”

Shaking his head, Combeferre turned back to Enjolras, who was deep in what appeared to be a threatening conversation with the taxi driver. “Well, if you don’t have anyone that we can call for you, you’ll have to come with us for the moment. I’m not letting you go off on your own until we can be sure you don’t have a concussion or internal bleeding.”

Courfeyrac smiled at Combeferre as if he was the best thing that he had ever seen, and Combeferre blushed slightly. “That’s the most wonderful thing anyone has ever said to me,” Courfeyrac sighed, batting his eyelashes at a thoroughly nonplussed Combeferre. “I would be honored to accompany you until my prince comes for me.”

As Combeferre led Courfeyrac to the taxi, he muttered under his breath to Enjolras as they passed him, “Keep an eye on this guy — I don’t think he’s quite all there.”

* * *

 

Combeferre’s estimation of Courfeyrac was not bolstered on their way to his and Enjolras’s apartment. In fact, if anything, it only became worse. Courfeyrac spent the entire time telling both him and Enjolras all about this ‘Prince Marius’ and how they were going to be married and Courfeyrac was going to become a prince as well of a kingdom known as Rue des Filles-du-Calvaire. It all sounded like a bunch of garbage to both Enjolras and Combeferre, who prided themselves on being fairly well-educated men.

And Courfeyrac’s entire spiel wasn’t helped when Enjolras asked, not particularly kindly, how long he had known Marius before getting engaged, and Courfeyrac blinked innocently at him. “Oh, a whole day,” he sighed.

Enjolras made a hacking noise and Combeferre interjected smoothly, “You mean, it feels like a day, because of how in love you are, right?”

“No, it’s been a whole twenty-four hours,” Courfeyrac said cheerfully, then frowned and added, “Actually, probably closer to thirty-six hours now. And then just think — tomorrow, it’ll be two days!” Combeferre and Enjolras both just stared at him, and Courfeyrac frowned slightly. “Why, how long have you two been together?”

Now Enjolras and Combeferre seemed unable to meet each other’s eyes. “We’re not  _together_ ,” Combeferre said impatiently. “Not like that. He’s my best friend. But how can you marry someone you’ve only known for one day? You don’t even know him.”

Courfeyrac looked surprised. “Of course I know him. He’s my true love.”

Enjolras snorted and turned away, apparently unwilling to even consider engaging in a conversation about true love, which given the state of his current love life, probably made sense. Combeferre, on the other hand, was undeterred. “But that doesn’t even make sense. You can’t just  _know_  that someone’s your true love, if such a concept even exists. It takes time and thought and — and, I don’t even know. But it should make sense, and this doesn’t?”

“Make sense?” Courfeyrac asked, amused. “It’s true love. It’s not meant to make sense, it just… _is_.”

Combeferre shook his head, ready to argue more, but then the cab pulled to stop in front of their apartment building. “Well, you’re wrong,” he said, matter-of-factly, “but we’ll have to continue this conversation tomorrow. It’s bedtime now.”

Courfeyrac nodded. “I know.” Then he yawned, and just like that, fell asleep in the back of the taxi.

Enjolras got out and raised an eyebrow at him. “You’re the one who wanted to bring him home,” he told Combeferre cheerfully. “So you get to carry him.”

Then he went inside, leaving Combeferre with an undoubtedly very confused but also very asleep strange man, and Combeferre sighed, because this was  _not_  the way he had envisioned the night going. 

* * *

 

When Combeferre woke up the next morning, something was different, though he couldn’t put his finger on it immediately. But then he realized it was really two things: their apartment was suddenly, miraculously clean, and additionally, someone was singing in the shower.

The latter was easiest to explain, as memories of the previous night flooded back to him. Enjolras sounded like a cat being strangled when he sang, so the person singing had to be their temporary and hopefully less-concussed houseguest. As for the cleanliness, well…

Combeferre knocked on the bathroom door. “Did you clean our apartment?” he asked, poking his head in.

Courfeyrac flung the shower curtain open to beam at him, and Combeferre blushed because the man appeared to have no sense of modesty. Though to be fair, if Combeferre looked like that, he might not be modest either; he didn’t know what there was to do in that forest of his, but  _damn_  Courfeyrac looked good. Suddenly, he realized he hadn’t listened to a word Courfeyrac was saying, and quickly blinked and directed his gaze distinctly upward. “Sorry, what was that?”

Laughing, Courfeyrac stepped out of the shower and shook his hair, sending water droplets flying everywhere, though mainly at Combeferre. “I said, I got my friends to help. Well, they’re weren’t  _my_  friends, exactly, but it’s never too late to make new friends, and they seemed helpful enough.”

“What friends were these?” Combeferre asked, intrigued, hoping that these friends might be able to take Courfeyrac away and possibly get him the brain scan he most likely needed.

“Oh, the rats.”

Combeferre let out a high-pitched noise and glanced wildly around. “Rats?” he repeated, his voice about an octave-higher than normal. “Rats are  _not_ friends, they are vermin!”

Courfeyrac frowned at him. “Now, that’s not very nice,” he chided. “Just imagine what they’d say about you.”

With that said, he brushed out of the bathroom and strode down the hall, still as naked as the day he was born, and Combeferre trailed after him. “What exactly do you intend on wearing?” he asked, though he froze when he saw what had happened in the living room. “Did you…did you make clothes out of my curtains?”

Courfeyrac nodded and smiled as if proud of himself, though his smile faded when he saw the look on Combeferre’s face. “Well, I didn’t think my wedding clothes were going to work, and besides, they’re still wet, so I thought I’d make something that fit in a little better. Don’t you think?”

Combeferre stared at the pair of gray pants, white shirt, grey vest, and red jacket that Courfeyrac had apparently sewn from the curtains in the living room, the kitchen, and Enjolras’s bedroom. “Well, it at least looks only a century or two off from current fashions, as opposed to several,” he said finally. “But Enjolras is going to kill you when he sees what you did to his curtains.”

“He can try,” Courfeyrac said, his voice muffled as he pulled his shirt on, and Combeferre was struck at his own sudden disappointment that Courfeyrac was no longer completely nude, a thought which made him blush. “But when Marius comes for me, he’ll kill him if he even tries.”

Combeferre rolled his eyes but decided to ignore that for the moment, instead glancing at his watch and swearing. “Shit, I’m late. It looks like you’ll have to come to work with me, since I can’t just leave you here. Who knows if I’d even have any curtains left when I got back.”

“Oh, I don’t think there’s enough material left in the curtains,” Courfeyrac told him seriously. “Now, the bedding, on the other hand…”

* * *

 

Though Combeferre hadn’t lied, and they were, in fact, running late, he couldn’t help but cut through the park. Courfeyrac seemed to appreciate it, after all, and while that wasn’t exactly the only reason why Combeferre wanted to do it, he couldn’t help but feel a little pleased as Courfeyrac grinned excitedly and whirled in a circle, taking in the fall foliage. “Oh, it’s wonderful,” he told Combeferre, looping his arm through Combeferre’s. “Marius will love it when he gets here.”

Combeferre shook his head and was silent for a few moments before saying, a little awkwardly, “Look, I just wanted to let you know, whatever happens, if things don’t work out and you decide to stay here instead of going back with your — with Marius — I’d like to help you out.”

Courfeyrac stopped and turned to him, his expression serious, and he lifted his free hand to pat Combeferre’s cheek gently. “That’s very kind of you. But I know you’re only saying that because you don’t think that Marius is coming for me. But he is.”

“But what if he doesn’t?” Combeferre asked, frustration coloring his tone, because he had rarely dealt with someone so willing to ignore basic logic.

Courfeyrac shook his head. “Why do you keep saying that?”

Combeferre shook his head as well. “Because — because there’s a million and a half ways that ‘true love’ can go wrong, and I see it every day. I mean, just ask Enjolras when you see him! Even if true love exists, that doesn’t mean that it lasts and it doesn’t mean that people won’t get hurt!”

“Marius is coming,” Courfeyrac insisted. “None of that matters with us.”

“No, he isn’t,” Combeferre said, a touch sadly, but he knew that if he didn’t prepare Courfeyrac, he would only get hurt more in the long run.

Courfeyrac actually stamped his foot, which Combeferre was pretty sure he’d only seen in film. “Yes!”

Combeferre reached out to grab Courfeyrac’s shoulders. “You have absolutely no way of knowing that,” he said calmly. “So I’m going to have to disagree with you, because one of us has to keep our head in this, and you have to start making plans for what you’re going to do when he doesn’t come.”

“He  _will_  come,” Courfeyrac said, his eyes flashing, and one of the buskers behind him struck up a beat. Courfeyrac repeated, in rhythm and with just a hint of a song about to come, “I know that he will come.”

Another busker took up the melody and Combeferre shook his head. “Nope,” he said, and grabbed Courfeyrac’s hand to drag him away.

Courfeyrac pouted. “But there was going to be music!” he protested. “A song sung by the entire park — I can just see it in my head…”

Combeferre snorted. “Yeah, but that’s a little too big budget for this production. Maybe just try talking to some animals instead.” Courfeyrac instantly brightened and Combeferre stared at him. “I…I meant that as a joke…” He realized for the first time that he was still holding Courfeyrac’s hand and dropped it quickly, blushing. “But now I am  _really_  late for work, so we had best go. And no more singing.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Courfeyrac said innocently, linking his arm through Combeferre’s again and whistling to himself as Combeferre just rolled his eyes (and also smiled a little, because he just couldn’t resist).

* * *

 

“Magic mirror, on the wall, show me my wayward grandson.” Gillenormand tapped his chin as the colors in the mirror swirled before reforming into a picture of Marius on what appeared to be a carriage ride through a park, Grantaire at his side.

“I suppose my grandfather wants you to return me,” Marius was saying, and Gillenormand perked up, ready to hear Grantaire convince Marius to return.

Instead, Grantaire shrugged. “He wants me to, yes,” he said. “But I’m not entirely sure we need to return immediately. After all, I’m—” Grantaire glanced around nervously and lowered his voice before adding, blushing with embarrassment, “I’m hoping that perhaps while you find your love, there’s a chance that maybe I’ll be able to find mine.”

Marius looked at him, surprised. “I did not know you desired love,” he said.

Grantaire shrugged again and looked away. “Doesn’t everyone?” he asked wryly. “But in our world, everyone is so…I don’t know,  _cartoonishly_ beautiful, and then there’s, well, me.”

“I think you’re—” Marius started loyally, then hesitated. “You probably won’t believe me if I said you were beautiful, would you?”

Rolling his eyes, Grantaire said quietly, “Anyway, that’s why I don’t think sticking around here would be a terrible idea. There’s a lot more people here. So maybe there’s someone for me.”

Marius drew his sword and pointed it valiantly towards the sky. “Faithful valet, so long as it occurs during the search for my Courfeyrac, I pledge my assistance in find you your love as well!”

The carriage driver pulled the carriage to a stop and glared at them both. “No swords on the carriage,” he commanded. “Now get off before I call the police!”

Gillenormand scowled and waved his hand, the image in the mirror disappearing. “Love, schmove,” he sighed. “Why is everyone obsessed with it? I suppose there’s nothing to be done, then.” He stood and smoothed his hands over his doublet, which magically turned into a dress shirt with a tie. “I’ll just have to go take care of things myself.”

* * *

 

Courfeyrac knocked on Combeferre’s office door. “I’m not interrupting, am I?” he asked innocently. “Only, I’ve been playing around with this magic rectangle that Enjolras lent me—” He held up the iPad in his hands. “And there’s going to be a  _ball_  tomorrow night. As a soon-to-be-prince I am understandably a fan of balls, but I thought that maybe you should go! Invite a young man or lady. Have an evening off for once.”

Combeferre sighed and leaned back in his chair. “That sounds wonderful,” he said, too tired for sarcasm. “But I really don’t have time to take an evening off. I barely have a free minute to myself most days.”

Frowning, Courfeyrac stepped further into the office. “But freedom is the most important thing of all,” he said. “I would have thought that you of all people would recognize that.”

Though Combeferre wanted to get back to work, he had never been able to resist a political argument, despite his best efforts on occasion. “I  _do_ recognize that, but there are different kinds of freedom. And the kinds I most value require responsibility to maintain, responsibilities like working. Which is what I’m trying to do now.” He looked back at his computer screen and waved vaguely at Courfeyrac. “You should go talk to Enjolras for a bit or something.”

Courfeyrac shrugged, deflated, and left Combeferre’s office to find Enjolras, who was currently growling at a case file in front of him. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

Enjolras glanced up and shrugged. “It might stop me from murdering someone, so, sure, come on in.” He gestured for Courfeyrac to take a seat. “What did you want to talk about?”

“Combeferre told me that I should ask you about true love going wrong.”

Enjolras froze for a moment, then let out a forced laugh. “Well, Combeferre was wrong,” he said stiffly. “I don’t know anything about true love. I thought — well, it doesn’t matter what I thought. It’s over now.”

Courfeyrac frowned at him. “So you were never in love?”

Sighing, Enjolras ran a hand through his hair. “I may have  _thought_  that I was in love,” he hedged. “I was dating this guy, and he was…perfect. Everything I thought I ever wanted. And he was my first…well, my first everything, really. I was never really interested in dating anyone until him, and I thought maybe this was it. But I was wrong.”

His voice was sad, and Courfeyrac reached out to touch his hand gently. “That sounds hard,” he said sympathetically. “But think back to the beginning of your relationship. Wasn’t that good, and wonderful, and worth it?”

Enjolras pulled his hand away from Courfeyrac’s, his expression tightening. “No,” he said sharply. “Because love — the lovey-dovey crap you’re talking about — it’s a fantasy. And one day, you have to wake up, and you’re in the real world, and the sooner you learn that, the happier you’ll be in the long run.”

Courfeyrac wanted to argue, but decided against it, knowing that this wasn’t the right time, and instead stood. “I hope for your sake that you’re wrong,” he said quietly, and left, leaving Enjolras staring after him, a dark look on his face.

* * *

 

By the end of the day, Combeferre was thoroughly exhausted. He was also feeling guilty, because he was pretty sure that he had hurt Courfeyrac’s feelings earlier, and for reasons he couldn’t quite explain, he felt pretty terrible about that. More than he normally did when he hurt someone’s feelings.

In fact, the one person he hadn’t been able to get out of his head all afternoon was Courfeyrac. The man had been quiet for most of the day, but the look and the smile he gave Combeferre every time they saw each other…Combeferre was pretty sure that the feeling in his stomach was what YA authors meant when they talked about butterflies in the stomach.

He had never really felt that way about anyone. Which was more troubling than Combeferre cared to think about.

But for the moment, it didn’t appear that, despite doing research on the internet in hopes of getting back, Courfeyrac was any closer to returning to his magical kingdom, which meant that Combeferre perhaps had time to figure things out,

And in the meantime—

“So I was thinking about that ball,” Combeferre said abruptly as they waited outside the office building for Enjolras.

Courfeyrac glanced over at him and smiled. “Oh?” he said sweetly.

Combeferre flushed but nodded and continued undeterred. “Yes. I was thinking that you may not be entirely wrong, and I could perhaps afford to take one night off, especially for something like a ball. But on one condition. I want you to — that is to say, I would like to take — I mean, if you could accompany—”

Before he could stammer the words out, they were interrupted by a triumphant call from down the street. “Courfeyrac!”

Courfeyrac turned, surprised. “Marius!” he said, a little faintly, and glanced back at Combeferre, who was standing there, shocked.

“My true love!” Marius crowed, pulling Courfeyrac into a tight embrace before drawing his sword and pointing it at Combeferre. “And you — have you been keeping the light of my life captive?”

“I — what?” Combeferre said, holding his hands up and trying not to laugh.

Courfeyrac touched Marius’s arm. “This is Combeferre. He’s…” He trailed off, looking for the right word before saying, without meeting Combeferre’s eyes, “He’s my friend.”

“Oh.” Marius lowered his sword and then gallantly offered his arm to Courfeyrac. “Well, in that case I shall spare his life. Now shall we go, my love?”

Though Courfeyrac took his arm, he also hesitated. “Actually, I was thinking that maybe we could do a few things before we went back. If you weren’t opposed, anyway.”

Marius raised a hand to brush a strand of hair from Courfeyrac’s face. “Whatever you want, my love.”

Together, they walked away, and Combeferre stared after them, though he looked away before Courfeyrac glanced back at him. Enjolras finally appeared from the office building, his briefcase in hand. “What did I miss?” he asked, seeing the look on Combeferre’s face. “And where’s Courfeyrac?”

Combeferre shook his head. “It doesn’t matter,” he said brusquely. “What matters is that there’s this ball tomorrow night. And I’m going to take Cosette. You should come, too.”

With that said, he walked in the opposite direction of Marius and Courfeyrac, hands shoved in his pockets, and Enjolras stared after him, baffled. “A ball?” he asked, to no one in particular. “What the hell did I miss? I was only gone for five minutes!”

* * *

 

“I look ridiculous.”

Enjolras said the words dryly, holding his arms away from his sides as he stared down at the renaissance costume he had gotten for the ball tonight. He had insisted on red, for obvious reasons, but the trappings of nobility, though they suited him well, didn’t seem to go with his demeanor. Cosette stifled a laugh, looking beautiful in her ballgown. “I think you look perfectly dashing,” she said seriously.

Combeferre cleared his throat. “Yes, well, let’s not cause a scene,” he said, ushering them both into the ballroom where the charity ball was being held. “You both look wonderful, I’ll have you know.”

Cosette elbowed him in the ribs. “Just wonderful?” she asked, feigning hurt.

Combeferre smiled and kissed her cheek. “Absolutely beautiful is what I meant to say, of course.” He was about to continue when he caught sight of who had just walked in and lost the ability to speak. It was Marius and Courfeyrac, of course, arm in arm and looking every bit the regal couple that they claimed to be. Courfeyrac had somehow procured another doublet, this one a deep green that didn’t match particularly well with Marius’s purple velvet but would undoubtedly look nice next to Combeferre’s blue brocade…

He shook his head, unwilling to complete that train of thought, and turned back to Cosette, forcing a smile onto his face. “Anyway, where was I?” he said.

Cosette, however, was staring at Marius and Courfeyrac. “Who are those guys?” she asked, something unfamiliar in her voice, and Combeferre shrugged.

“Oh, just someone that I met at the office once. If you’d like I can introduce you.”

To his surprise, she blushed and shook her head, muttering something about needing a drink before disappearing. If Combeferre had been paying attention, he might have noticed the way that Marius was staring after her, but he had eyes only for Courfeyrac, who slowly descended the staircase. “You look amazing,” Combeferre told him honestly when he reached him. “I thought you would have left by now.”

Courfeyrac smiled, though there was something reserved in the smile, and shook his head. “No, I convinced Marius to stay for tonight. I thought that it might be a better way to end things.” The band struck up a song and Courfeyrac held his hand out before asking tentatively, “Would you like to dance with me?”

Combeferre didn’t smile, but he did take Courfeyrac’s hand and let him lead him out on to the dancefloor.

Across the room, Enjolras was glaring at the canapés as if they had personally offended him, which, of course, they hadn’t. It was the entire thought of a ball that had personally offended him, not helped by someone who ran into him from behind. “Oh, I’m so sorry,” a voice said, and Enjolras turned to glare at a smaller, dark-haired man wearing a green tabard, a glass of wine in his hand. The man blinked up at him. “Goodness, you’re attractive.”

Enjolras couldn’t help but crack a smile at that. “Thank you?” he said, or asked, really, as he wasn’t sure how to handle that, though he figured this was as good a time for any to try to move on. So he bit his lip before blurting, “Would you like to dance with me?”

The man stared at him. “I…there is nothing I would love more,” he said slowly. “But I am commanded to keep an eye on my master’s grandson, and so I really am not allowed…”

He trailed off as if he realized how lame that sounded, and Enjolras shook his head, his eyes flashing. “You are always allowed,” he said in a low voice. “Everyone’s allowed to make choices for themselves, and if your employer is not allowing you to do so, I will do everything in power to bring him down because that’s illegal.”

There was a brief moment before the man started laughing. “I really don’t think you need to go that far,” he assured him, his smile wide and, to Enjolras, quite captivating. “But you are quite convincing. One dance, then.” He took Enjolras’s arm and went with him to the dance floor before realizing— “Oh, my name is Grantaire, for what it is worth.”

“It is worth much to me,” Enjolras told him, feeling strangely formal as he looked down at the man in his arms. “And my name is Enjolras.”

For the first half of the song, Courfeyrac and Combeferre waltzed in relative silence before Combeferre said quietly, “I wish you didn’t have to go.”

Courfeyrac shrugged and didn’t meet Combeferre’s eyes. “He is my true love,” he muttered. “We are…bound to each other, I suppose. I promised to marry him, and I can’t just go back on that.”

“Of course you can,” Combeferre said. “He doesn’t  _own_  you. You’re not bound by anything, and if you don’t love him—”

Courfeyrac looked up at him sharply. “Who says that I don’t love him?” he challenged. Combeferre looked away, silent, and Courfeyrac sighed. “He loves me,” he said softly. “And it’s meant to be.”

Combeferre carefully lifted his hand to cup Courfeyrac’s cheek, rubbing his thumb against Courfeyrac’s cheekbone. “You were the one who was reminding me that there are different kinds of freedom, and that freedom is the most important thing of all. You can be free of fate, if that’s what you think this is. You just have to want it.”

Courfeyrac stared up at him, then, suddenly, pulled away. “I…I have to go,” he said, his voice shaking. “It was wonderful to see you one last time, but now, I really must go.”

“Courfeyrac!” Combeferre called, watching helplessly as Courfeyrac all but fled, then sighed and turned away. True love was a sham, and he had always known it. For a moment, he had let himself believe…well, none of that mattered now. Now he just needed to find Cosette, the smart, logical choice.

So he did not notice as an older man dressed immaculately in a suit, offered Courfeyrac an apple. “You seem hungry,” the man said sympathetically. “And this apple will take away more than just your hunger.”

Courfeyrac didn’t even really pay attention to who was shoving the apple into his hands, merely took it and took a big bite.

The effect was instantaneous — Courfeyrac slumped to the floor, the apple falling from his hands and bouncing down the staircase to land at Combeferre’s feet, and Combeferre looked up, a small frown on his face, a frown that turned into panic when he saw Courfeyrac lying there. “Courfeyrac!”

He darted up the stairs, shouting over his shoulder for someone to call 9-1-1, and knelt at Courfeyrac side, holding one of his hands in his. “Courfeyrac?” he said desperately. “His hands are like ice!”

“Oh, I’m sure it’s nothing,” the old man said smoothly. “These things happen all the time. He’s been taken by a swoon. I’m sure it’s—” He broke off as Marius swept over to see what was going on.

“Grandfather?” Marius said, surprised. “Whatever are you doing here?”

As if affected by Marius’s words, Gillenormand’s clothes turned back to normal, and he shrugged, an uneasy smile on his face. “Oh, you know, I wanted to see how you and your young love were getting on…”

For the first time, Marius noticed Courfeyrac on the floor, and gasped. “Did you do this?” he demanded, and Gillenormand shrugged. “Quickly, let me through — true love’s first kiss will wake him.” Marius pushed Combeferre aside and bent to kiss Courfeyrac’s lips.

Nothing happened.

Combeferre seemed to sag, not that he believed in any of that anyway, but— “Combeferre,” Enjolras said urgently from where he was standing next to Cosette. “It’s gotta be you. You know it.” Combeferre tried to meet Cosette’s eyes, but she wasn’t looking at him, instead staring at Marius, who was looking back at her with a look close to rapture on his face.

So Combeferre turned instead to Courfeyrac, cupping his cheek just as he had only a few minutes before, and bent to kiss him, their lips brushing softly together.

And in that moment, everything changed. A swirling golden light seemed to surround them both, and Courfeyrac’s eyes flew open, locking onto Combeferre’s. And then, Courfeyrac had practically tackled Combeferre, kissing him deeply, as Combeferre kissed him back.

The assembled crowd broke into cheers, but Gillenormand wasn’t done. “So this wasn’t your true love,” he said to Marius, a little triumphantly.

“No,” Marius agreed, crossing over to Cosette and taking her hand. “But she is.”

Gillenormand cocked his head. “Don’t you think that you’re moving from true love to true love a little too quickly?”

Combeferre sat up, still cradling Courfeyrac to him. “Honestly, sir, I can’t speak for your grandson, but I think that whomever he chooses after Courfeyrac won’t matter. You tried to keep your grandson and Courfeyrac apart, for reasons I can only begin to guess based on every other fairytale that has ever happened in the history of the world, but Courfeyrac has already instilled the most important idea in Marius.”

“And what would that be?” Gillenormand asked crisply.

Combeferre looked back at Courfeyrac, who was grinning at him, and said simply, “To be free.”

Courfeyrac kissed Combeferre again, then looked at Gillenormand. “Your Majesty, if you truly loved your grandson, you would let him be free to choose his own destiny. After all, true love may not be the right choice, and may even hurt sometimes, but it’s always a choice, and one he should be allowed to make.” Combeferre squeezed Courfeyrac’s hand, and Courfeyrac added, “The way that I have.”

Marius lifted his chin defiantly at Gillenormand. “So there you have it. I’ve made my choice, and I’m choosing—” He turned to Cosette. “I’m sorry, what’s your name?”

“Cosette,” she said, laughing, and Marius nodded.

“Right. I’m choosing Cosette. You can either give us our blessing, or you can leave my life forever.”

Gillenormand looked troubled, and Cosette cleared her throat. “Excuse me? Don’t I get a choice in this?” Marius turned to her, horrified, and Cosette laughed prettily and kissed him. “Just kidding. I already chose.”

Clearing his throat, Gillenormand interrupted, “Very well. I love you, grandson, and I would not lose you over this. You will find your own way, and while I hope it will be the way of our family, what is most important is that you are alive, healthy, and happy. And if she makes you happy, so be it.”

“I want to be happy, too,” a voice spoke up from the back, and Grantaire pushed through the crowd, holding Enjolras’s hand. “Which is why I want to ask permission to leave your employment, Your Majesty, to stay in this world and see—” he glanced up at Enjolras “—see what could happen.”

Enjolras blushed as red as his doublet but grinned, and Gillenormand threw his hands up in the air. “What the hell. May everyone find their happiness tonight.”

The crowd burst into unexpected applause at that, and Enjolras took that moment to kiss Grantaire, while Cosette pulled Marius down so she could kiss him again, and Combeferre turned to Courfeyrac, grinning. “You mean it?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Courfeyrac said. “What about you? Have your thoughts on true love changed?”

“I have no idea,” Combeferre said honestly, and squeezed Courfeyrac’s hand. “But I’m willing to find out.” Courfeyrac grinned and Combeferre bent to kiss him again.

_Marius and Cosette were married in Rue des Filles-du-Calvaire and were content to live there, though Marius warned his grandfather that some things would have to change, as it wasn’t the 18th century anymore, after all._

_Enjolras and Combeferre set up their own law firm so that they could actually help those who need it most and pass some of the paperwork on to other people._

_Enjolras and Grantaire moved in together and seem to spend half their time fighting, but neither would change it for the world._

_And Courfeyrac moved in with Combeferre, and got a law degree of his own. When Combeferre proposed, it was with an engagement ring engraved with two simple words that would forever define their entire relationship: True Love._

_And they all lived happily ever after._


End file.
